


On the Verge

by OnceUponAWhim



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, post-season 1 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceUponAWhim/pseuds/OnceUponAWhim
Summary: *Co-authored by Gracielinn*Wyatt knows something has to be terribly wrong when Lucy doesn't show up on time at Mason Industries... [Wyatt/Lucy, post-season 1 finale, no spoilers for season 2]





	On the Verge

_“I suppose I have found it easier to identify with the characters who verge upon hysteria, who were frightened of life, who were desperate to reach out to another person. But these seemingly fragile people are the strong people really.”_

_~ Tennessee Williams_

* * *

 

"C'mon, Lucy, pick up, dammit." For the tenth time in less than a half hour, Wyatt tried to call her and, at the sound of her voice mail (again), he scowled and swore viciously at his phone. Where the hell was she? And why wasn't she answering her phone?

He’d just finished his verbal abuse of the device when Rufus stuck his head in the lounge door where Wyatt had been waiting on Lucy to return. 

"Lucy around?” Rufus asked casually. “Lifeboat's almost charged, and I want to fine-tune the destination code for ‘79. I was hoping she had more specific information about where and when her parents are supposed to meet." 

As the pilot walked into the lounge and looked at Wyatt expectantly, the very pleasant feelings he had experienced after his conversation earlier with Lucy about possibilities (before Connor Mason so rudely interrupted them) were beginning to dissolve into an uneasy sense of foreboding. There had to be a reason she wasn’t responding to calls and texts. Less than two hours ago, he’d been holding Lucy close enough to feel her heart beating rapidly against his chest, savoring the fragrant softness of her hair tickling his chin. And now it was well past the hour she’d mentioned as she’d walked away from him. 

His surprising despair at the abrupt realization that their takedown of Rittenhouse meant the official end of his mission at Mason Industries and a return to Pendleton - and no more Lucy in his life - had been suddenly juxtaposed with an odd mix of exhilaration and apprehension at the faltering half admission that had tumbled impulsively from his lips after she’d sweetly thanked him for everything. His arms had tightened involuntarily around Lucy as she’d sighed and rested her cheek on his shoulder, and he’d briefly closed his eyes at the unexpected strength of the hopeful, excited anticipation of exploring a future with her, something Wyatt had thought he would never have a chance to feel again for a woman after losing Jess. 

Distracted, Wyatt ignored Rufus, staring right through him before tapping his phone again and quickly bringing it to his ear. Rufus frowned when Wyatt was forced to leave yet another message, “Hey, it's me. It’s been almost two hours since you left, and you're really starting to worry me here, so, please, please call me as soon as you get this." 

Once Wyatt ended the call, Rufus asked hesitantly, "What's going on? Where's Lucy?" But before Wyatt could formulate a response, without warning, the lounge door was thrown open by a harried Agent Christopher, accompanied by two guys in nondescript black suits, neither of whom he'd ever seen before. 

Dread ran cold through Wyatt’s veins; something had to be terribly wrong. "Is it Lucy? Did something happen to her?" Wyatt demanded. 

Christopher shook her head impatiently and replied, "What? No, I haven't seen Lucy in hours. We have a situation, Wyatt. Rittenhouse has broken into the warehouse where the mothership was hidden and stolen it.” Pausing for a moment, she then took a deep breath before gravely informing the teammates that the eight Homeland Security soldiers who had been standing guard over the ship had been slaughtered. 

Rufus looked as stunned and sick as Wyatt felt, and Wyatt instantly understood that all of them had foolishly, catastrophically underestimated Rittenhouse, and as a result, eight of his fellow soldiers were dead, costly collateral damage of the shadow organization’s insane quest to rewrite history in service to their own dangerous vision for the world. The dread he’d been experiencing over Lucy’s troubling lack of response in the last hour bloomed into full-blown panic, and he closed his eyes and forced himself to take slow, measured breaths and concentrate on her. Devastating as this latest turn of events was, _she_ was his first priority, and if he was being completely honest with himself, she had been for a while now, ever since his escape from the black site after the ill-fated trip to 1983 Cleveland. 

“Wyatt!” He opened his eyes to see Christopher staring at him with barely-concealed irritation, “Did you hear what I just said? I’ve called for an emergency team meeting in ten minutes, and I need both of you there.” 

Wyatt glanced at Rufus, who nodded almost imperceptibly, and responded firmly, “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but, respectfully, Rufus will have to fill me in later because I can’t stay for the meeting. There may be a situation with Lucy. She left on an errand earlier, and not only has she been gone longer than we anticipated, but she’s also not answering her phone, and I’m getting concerned.” And concerned was an enormous understatement, of which the agent was probably well aware. 

He stoically returned her astute glance, and managed to temper his visible relief when she eventually shrugged and retorted, “I imagine it would do me no good to argue with you?” A corner of her mouth lifted briefly at his emphatic, “No, Ma’am,” before warning him, “Well, get going then, Master Sergeant, and make sure you keep me informed, understood?” With that, Agent Christopher quickly left the lounge, the two NSA suits silently falling in line behind her. 

Rufus started to leave also, and at the doorway, turned around and soberly requested, “Hey, that goes for me too. As soon as you hear from Lucy, text me, okay?” Pointing a thumb down the hallway, his friend shrugged and said ruefully, “I better get to that meeting. Good luck, Wyatt.” 

Wyatt practically broke a land speed record (and definitely more than one traffic ordinance) on the drive to Carol Preston’s address, an impressive feat considering today was only the second time Wyatt had ever been there. He forced the painful memories of that particular visit from his mind, preferring to keep his focus on the present situation and the possibilities they’d just barely begun to discuss. Pulling into the empty driveway beside the stately home that was located on a quiet, affluent street, his heart sank. Not only was there no sign of Lucy’s car, but the house itself was completely dark. _Where the hell was she?_

For the briefest of seconds, he felt like punching the steering wheel, and struggled to keep his growing fear and apprehension in check. Inhaling deeply, Wyatt pulled out his phone and tried calling her cell again. He cursed anew at the sound of her voice mail. Where in the world had Lucy _been_ since she left Mason this afternoon? Could she have gone somewhere with her mother? Or possibly gone to see a colleague at Stanford? 

A wholly unwelcome thought danced around the edges of his mind, one that he absolutely did _not_ want to consider, even fleetingly. But here he sat in her mother’s driveway, frustrated, worried, and clearly running out of options. Mentally gritting his teeth, Wyatt let himself entertain the unlikely possibility that she could be with Noah, and even the vaguest suggestion of Lucy walking away from him and their promising, though somewhat unsatisfying, conversation and going straight to meet the arrogant doctor made Wyatt sick. 

Abruptly, his phone rang, and dizzy with relief, Wyatt nearly dropped it in his eagerness to answer. It was Lucy. Hastily swiping to answer, he tried valiantly (and almost certainly failed) to suppress the frantic edge to his voice when he replied, “Lucy, thank God, where are you? Are you okay?” But there was only silence from her in response. The hell? He pulled the phone from his ear, thinking maybe they had gotten disconnected. Then he heard a barely audible sniffle, “Lucy?” he prompted gently. 

There was another sniff, before she asked in a quavering, hesitant voice, “Can you, um, can you come get me, please? I, uh, probably shouldn’t drive…” 

Unable to help himself, Wyatt interrupted, “What? Why shouldn’t you drive? Are you alright? Did someone hurt you? Please, tell me what’s wrong.” 

He held his breath when she emitted what sounded suspiciously like a soft hiccup before haltingly answering, “I’m okay, I guess. Please, can you just- Can you come, please? I need you.” 

Well, hell. In their world, _I need you_ was right up there with _I trust you_ , so he swallowed his impatience and replied, “Of course. Where are you?” 

Another lengthy pause hung between them, during which Wyatt figured he might be losing his mind right along with his composure, before she very quietly confessed, “Portola’s.” 

_What the fuck?_ He’d been almost beside himself with worry, and she’d been five minutes away from him the whole time at a fucking _bar_? 

Involuntarily, his temper started to flare, and Wyatt winced slightly once he heard the accusing edge to his voice that he can’t seem to control. “Are you drunk?” he asked incredulously. “Jesus, that’s what was so important for you to do that you walked away from me when we were…” He trailed off, forcing himself to stop right there, unwilling to betray any of his newly-realized feelings. 

“No,” Lucy mumbled. “Well, yes, and I’m sorry, you have no idea how sorry, but just, please, Wyatt?” 

Naturally, despite his anger and disappointment, Wyatt found himself unable to deny her anything. Plus, it was starting to sink in that something about her voice was off. She sounded pretty shaken actually, enough so that his anger and annoyance started to fade, and with a clearer head, Wyatt was beginning to comprehend that something must have really upset her, and he was worried for Lucy all over again. 

“Lucy, you still there? Don’t move, I’m on my way. Five minutes,” he ordered, and ending the call, Wyatt threw his truck in gear and sped away from Carol Preston’s darkened house. Four minutes later, he pulled into the nearly empty lot, crookedly parking in the first space he found. It was scant consolation that at least Lucy chose a place she was familiar with, one located only a few minutes away from Mason Industries. For months, the team had been patronizing the bar after their missions (especially the particularly hellish ones), and most of the bartenders were accustomed enough to seeing the three of them and Jiya that if some asshat had tried to bother a getting-drunk-all-by-herself Lucy, they would have stepped in. 

Just the thought of some stranger getting all handsy with a possibly inebriated Lucy pissed him off all over again, and Wyatt made a mental note to let the bartender know that if she made the mistake of ever trying something like this in the future, then the staff was to notify him immediately (although that seemed highly unlikely, considering he was _this_ close to just never letting her out of his sight again). 

Wyatt slammed through Portola’s front door, perhaps with a bit more force than necessary, not that he gave a rat’s ass. Scanning the dimly-lit room, he exhaled a profound sigh of relief at the sight of her slender figure perched somewhat haphazardly on a high stool at the end of the bar, crying quietly, and - thank you, God - she was alone. He was in no mood to be tempted by the need to rearrange the face of some drunk idiot who dared try and touch her. 

Three long strides brought him to her side, and Wyatt gratefully pulled Lucy from the bar stool and enveloped her trembling body in his arms in one fell swoop. 

Alarm and concern mingled with confusion as he tried to figure out what could have happened in just a few short hours to upset her so, because this kind of behavior was completely out of character for Lucy Preston. 

“What’s wrong? What happened? Lucy?” he murmured against her soft hair, but she didn’t respond, just cried harder. At a loss, Wyatt looked up, and recognizing the bartender (Mark? Matt?), shot him a quizzical glance, but the guy only shrugged and made a gesture to indicate that Lucy had knocked back a few. Sighing in frustration, Wyatt managed to get out his wallet with one hand while still holding Lucy with the other. And, throwing down a couple of twenties on the bar, he gently steered Lucy toward the door. 

Once they’d made it outside, standing beside his truck, Wyatt pulled Lucy into another hug, relieved that she seemed to be calming down a little. After a long moment, she lifted her head from his shoulder and sighed. Leaning back in his arms, she self-consciously swiped at her wet face. Under the bright parking lot lights, Wyatt finally got his first good look at her, all flushed cheeks and dark, tear-soaked eyes, smelling of alcohol, and his anxiety began to rise again. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m here now,” Wyatt soothed her. “And I really need you to tell me what’s going on, okay?” 

She swallowed hard, and unable to meet his concerned gaze, looked past him and admitted softly, “It’s my mom, she told me- My mother is Rittenhouse.” 

Wyatt was utterly dumbfounded by the revelation; could the day possibly get any worse? He stared in shocked disbelief at Lucy for a moment before pulling her back into his arms as her eyes welled up again. 

Holding her closely and glancing over her narrow shoulder around the parking lot, Wyatt’s instincts kicked in as he realized how vulnerable they were out in the open if Rittenhouse really was on the loose. “I think we better go, it’s probably not safe for us to be hanging around here,” he murmured into her hair as she sniffled and nestled closer to him. Unfortunately, their choices were somewhat limited. Obviously, she couldn’t return to her mother’s house, and he hadn’t heard anything further from Rufus or Agent Christopher, so Wyatt decided to take Lucy to his place. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. I’m taking you back to my apartment, okay?” At her slight nod, he reluctantly stepped back to help her into the passenger side of his truck before hurrying around the front and getting in. 

Starting the truck, Wyatt hastily texted Rufus that Lucy was with him, and asked if he would inform Agent Christopher. He glanced over at Lucy sitting quietly as she stared out the window, fresh tears slipping from her eyes, and his heart ached at the lost, defeated expression on her face. It was even worse than when Lucy realized she had forgotten her sister’s birthday. What a hellish nightmare this must be for her on top of losing Amy, and coming on the heels of learning that Benjamin Cahill, the Rittenhouse prick who had been pulling strings behind the scenes for months now, was actually her biological father. Impulsively, before he could stop himself, Wyatt reached over to take her small, clammy hand in his. She remained silent for the short drive, save for the occasional sniffle. 

Pulling into his regular parking space at home, Wyatt turned off the truck and rushed to open Lucy's door and help her get out, placing a firm hand under her elbow when she wobbled and shyly whispered her thanks. Leading her inside, he was somewhat surprised when, after clumsily shrugging out of her jacket and dropping it on the floor, she immediately headed for his kitchen to stare intently at his cabinets. Moving to the fridge, Wyatt pulled out a Brita pitcher, and grabbing a glass, poured her some water. 

“Here, I’ve got water,” he offered. 

She just ignored him and began opening his cabinet doors, muttering, “Don’t want water. Where’s your whiskey, or scotch, or whatever?” 

Hastily setting the pitcher down, Wyatt reached for her arms, and gently tugged her toward him, cautioning, “I think that’s the last thing you need right now…” Of course, it’s the truth, but he still ended up feeling like a total dick when her dark eyes welled up and she began to sob again in earnest. 

“I can’t- I can’t stop seeing her face, hearing her... I need to just...” she whimpered. 

Her palpable anguish practically broke Wyatt’s heart. And unfortunately, he was more than familiar with the desire, hell, the _need_ , to drink away the pain, and he hated seeing her like this. 

Pulling her close, he unthinkingly pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Lucy froze, and leaning back, studied his face, eyes searching as she absently swiped away her tears. Worried that he’d crossed a line, Wyatt was stunned when, without warning, Lucy pushed up on her toes to kiss him. 

Instinct took over, and he kissed her back – the kiss they surely would have shared that afternoon at Mason Industries had they not been interrupted. 

Lucy responded eagerly, and she felt so warm and sweet and willing that it didn’t even register right away that she was still drunk and therefore vulnerable, until the tip of her tongue boldly teased his lower lip and Wyatt tasted the lingering alcohol. He pulled back regretfully, because as badly as he’d wanted this, wanted _her_ , it couldn’t be like this. “Lucy... wait...” he murmured. 

But she ignored him, and whispered brokenly against his lips, “Please, I need you,” before kissing him again.   

Her insistent mouth was making so many enticing promises that his resolve faltered, and Wyatt gave in to temptation for a few increasingly heated moments. Lucy whimpered restlessly as he ran possessive hands up and down her back. 

Wyatt’s mind was reeling, his body clamoring for more. When she pressed herself tightly against him, Wyatt groaned, so caught up in his need for her that he failed to notice right away that she had deftly unbuckled his belt and was now undoing his fly. 

His strained admonishment of “Hey, hey,” fell on deaf ears, and he forced himself to try and still Lucy’s small hands. Keeping her head down, she ignored him, determinedly evading his grip with one hand as she cupped him through his boxers with the other. 

Wyatt hissed, “Fuck, Lucy, you gotta stop,” even as his body intuitively welcomed her frantic touch. Knowing full well this could _not_ happen, not right then and not that way, Wyatt tried in vain to back away. But she just followed him, pleading breathlessly with him in between feverish little kisses along his jawline as her eyes filled, “Please, I need to forget, help me forget.” 

Panting, Wyatt stepped back again, and resolutely choked out a refusal, “Not like this...,” even though his desire for her was clawing fiercely at him and it almost physically hurt to witness her anguish. 

Tears spilled from Lucy’s dark eyes as she gazed at him in misery before taking a shuddering breath and launching herself at him once more. “Please?” she mumbled, pressing her lips to his.  “Just- Just pretend I'm Jessica.” 

Wyatt backed off instantly and stared at her in shock, rendered speechless by her unexpected suggestion. Tears sprang involuntarily to his eyes at the painful realization that Lucy had assumed he was outright rejecting her. His tentative words to her earlier today had apparently been just a little too vague, and now she thought he didn't want _her_ . Dismayed, he pulled her trembling body into a firm hug, protesting, “No, baby, no.” He held her tightly, stroking her back and assuring her, “I _do_ want you, just _you_. But not like this.” 

Lucy gradually relaxed against him, sobbing into his chest while Wyatt patiently held her and rubbed her back soothingly. Eventually, her tears dwindled away, and when she fought to stifle a yawn, he inwardly debated his next move. Clearly, Lucy was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and desperately needed some real rest, not just a few hours of fitful sleep on his sofa. 

However, after what just transpired between them, Wyatt was afraid it would send the wrong message if he took her to his bedroom. Making a quick decision, he leaned back from her and coaxed, “C’mere.” Taking her hand, he steadied her as she swayed a little on shaky legs before he guided her to the living room. He discreetly re-zipped and re-buckled himself as Lucy slowly lowered herself to the sofa, and after he was sitting closely beside her, Wyatt put a comforting arm around her as she silently cried herself to sleep on his shoulder. 

Once Lucy had drifted off, Wyatt carried her to the bedroom and carefully placed her on the bed before removing her shoes. After he managed to get her under the covers without waking her, Wyatt stood beside the bed, gazing down at her sleeping peacefully as he contemplated where he should go. As much as he wanted to join her and hold her in his arms the rest of the night, he figured that probably wasn't the wisest option, and yet, he didn’t want to leave her to go sleep in the other room. A big yawn caught Wyatt off guard, and he blinked slowly as a sudden weariness makes the decision for him. Putting his back against the wall, he slid down to sit and keep watch over her until morning. 

The next thing Wyatt knew, he was peeling his face groggily from the side of the plastic hamper he’d apparently spent the night leaning against. He blinked in the bright sun of the morning, rubbing his bleary eyes before he zeroed in on the sight in front of him.

Sitting stiffly at the edge of his bed was Lucy, looking pale and pinched as she stared down at her hands.

He supposed that was actually a good sign; when he’d put her in his bed last night, he’d half-wondered if she’d even stick around at all. There was no way she’d be comfortable with either the blow she’d been dealt by her mother or the way she’d behaved after that, so he had almost expected her to leave as soon as she woke up. Then again, Wyatt acknowledged to himself, he didn’t actually know how much she’d had to drink, so for all he knew, maybe she didn’t remember much anyway.

She obviously hadn’t realized yet that he was awake, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Shifting to sit up straighter, he ventured a cautious “…hey.”

Lucy’s head jerked up in alarm, and she winced at the sudden movement before her eyes widened as her gaze caught his. But she looked back down immediately to where her hands gripped each other tightly in her lap. “I am _so_ sorry,” she finally said, her voice quiet and scratchy. Then she let out a sniffle, her voice cracking as she continued, “I just-”

Even though she wasn’t looking at him, Wyatt shook his head emphatically as he cut her off. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

That got her to look up. She managed to glare at him momentarily, scoffing. “I… _molested_ you,” she spat out, sniffling again and swiping at her eyes before she dropped her gaze again. “You just slept all night sitting on the floor instead of in your own bed so I wouldn’t jump you again.”

Wyatt let out a soft chuckle under his breath; that was the _last_ thing Lucy needed to be worrying about. “Remember that, huh?” he teased gently.

Her voice was almost too soft for Wyatt to hear as she admitted, “Among other things I wish I didn’t.”

That sobered him a little. For as much as he really didn’t mind that she’d been tipsy and had essentially pressed the fast-forward button on the physical side of whatever their relationship was becoming, that didn’t change the fact that the underlying impetus for that desperate leap forward was because, somehow, Lucy had found out that her mother is Rittenhouse.

Come to think of it, Wyatt had a whole lot of questions about that. “What _happened_ when you left?” he asked, not having had any of the blanks filled in when he’d picked her up at the bar the night before.

Lucy sighed, sniffling and holding the bridge of her nose. “I just wanted to explain to my mo-” She choked on the title, then rephrased, spitting out bitterly, “ _her_ \- what was happening. I needed to say goodbye if-” Her voice gravelly and quiet, she cleared her throat before continuing. “When Amy was here, she was sick, and I-” Tears spill over onto her pale cheeks once more, and the sound of her voice faltering again has Wyatt half a breath from rushing to her side to envelop her in his arms to try to comfort her as best he could. He refrained when Lucy continued, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head, “But she started saying all these things – Rittenhouse wouldn’t let me get Amy back, they were going to steal the mothership-” Her head jerked up in alarm as those words slipped from her mouth, as if only then realizing that had been a possibility. “Did they?” she asked, her voice tight.

He hated that he had to be the one to relay that news to her, but Wyatt nodded grimly.

The regret that washed over her face was obvious; Wyatt could see her wince, though, to be fair, he couldn’t tell if that was the news of the mothership or her increasingly apparent hangover.

“And I just…” Lucy’s voice trailed off in a tearful squeak and hugged her knees up to her chest, perching her feet on the edge of his mattress. “I left and the only thing I could think was to get drunk out of my mind and erase it all.”

Wyatt shook his head with a wan smile; he knew better than most how that sort of strategy ends up. “Never quite works, does it?”

Lucy let out a soft snort, shaking her head ruefully. “No.” There was a slight pause before she finally looked back up at him and started to speak. “And you-” But her voice cracked when her gaze met his, and Wyatt was sure he could see her eyes grow shiny with tears. She managed to croak out half an apology, “I’m sorry, I-” before those tears won, spilling over onto her cheeks. She wiped the edge of her sleeve at the side of her face, but it appeared to be a losing battle, with her eyes welling up again.

And that’s when he couldn’t take it anymore. Why the hell was he still on the floor, half a room away from her? Wyatt pulled himself to his feet without another thought, sliding into place next to Lucy and taking her into his arms in one swift motion.

His chin resting on the top of her head as she shed a few more tears, he rubbed her back, wordlessly urging her to just calm down and breathe.

When the sniffles finally slowed, Wyatt smoothed a hand over her hair and leaned back ever so slightly, prompting gently, “Hey.” Lucy tensed a little in his arms, but she didn’t look up. So Wyatt waited until she eventually did, red, swollen eyes and all. He smiled softly at her. “Back it up to before you left Mason.”

Lucy’s gaze immediately dropped away from his again, and Wyatt could swear he could make out the pretty tinge of a blush coloring her cheeks underneath the damp tear tracks. So she obviously knew exactly what he was referring to, and that told him, or at least he hoped it was telling him, that it had clearly meant something significant to her too.

Wyatt took a deep breath. She’d more than put herself out there, completely vulnerable, when she’d kissed him. Granted, she had been drunk and emotional, but she’d still done it. And not only that, but he’d shut her down. Big time. And then she’d gone and interpreted that as him still wanting Jessica over her. Lucy needed to know where he really stood on where she’d been going with her advances last night. Which meant it was his turn to own up to things, be honest with her – and himself, finally – and let himself be a little vulnerable. He’d fallen so far for her before he’d even realized, it was hopeless to think he could ever do anything but fall even further.

Reaching to entwine his fingers with hers, he heard himself admit, “I _am_ open to possibilities. And,” he continued, squeezing her hand in his, “that most definitely includes everything you were trying to do last night. _Believe me_.” Wyatt paused after stressing those last two words, snorting a chuckle to himself and recalling exactly how much he’d reacted to her touch even when his brain had been fighting to remember that she was wasted and emotionally drained. “But,” he added hesitantly, “you were in no position to-”

Cutting him off with a sniffly nod before he could even finish, Lucy voiced her reluctant agreement with a soft “I know.”

Her sadly resigned reply tugged at Wyatt’s heart. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder to draw her close enough to press a kiss to her temple, he reiterated, “We can try take two – because I _do_ want you,” he stressed to her, then quickly clarifying “ _us –_ a relationship _–_ ” lest she get the impression that he was focused on anything less than that. “– when you’re not three sheets to the wind or hungover or in the middle of finding out your mother is in on…” He paused there, not even sure of how to describe what could possibly be going on with Rittenhouse now. “Well, in on whatever it is they’re doing,” he finished with a weary sigh.

Lucy, who had actually been sneaking a glance at him when he started speaking, a sheepish little smile even starting to show itself on her face, sobered by the time Wyatt finished. “Have you heard anything? Since…”

Wyatt shook his head. “They’re zipping around between all sorts of years. Nothing we can follow. I-” his voice caught in his throat, feeling lingering hints of that chilling fear that had overtaken him when he couldn’t find her the day before. “I had to find you,” he finally managed, swallowing hard. “But Rufus or Agent Christopher would call if-”

She spoke over him again, stoically accepting of what she knew just as well as he did. “We should just go in.”

His head lolled forward in resignation as he let his arm slide from around Lucy’s shoulders. For as much as he would have preferred to just stay home with her and do his best to protect her from all the craziness of her own life, she was absolutely right. “Yeah…”

With a sigh, she patted his knee absently and hauled herself up off the bed.

And, in spite of everything facing them, with Rittenhouse and with Lucy’s family, that one innocent little touch still managed to send a shiver of electric anticipation through Wyatt’s body.

So before she could get too far, he prompted after her, “Lucy?”

She paused, looking confused at the fact that he’d yet to get up from the bed and follow her.

With her finally truly looking at him for what felt like the first time since they were back at Mason Industries the day before, Wyatt slowly stood and crossed the room to where Lucy waited. Before he could second guess himself, he slid his hands to cradle her face and leaned down to brush his mouth over hers.

He could feel her take a sharp breath upon the contact, but to his relief, a beat later, she was leaning up into him, tentatively returning the kiss with a gentle press of her lips to his.

Wyatt didn’t push it; he pulled back after indulging only briefly and rested his forehead on Lucy’s. “To be continued, okay?” he promised.

Lucy finally gave him a genuine smile and nodded.

“And your mother, and the rest of it?” Wyatt added, “We figure it out together.” With that, he slipped his hand into Lucy’s and led her out of the bedroom, to his truck, and to whatever awaited them at Mason Industries.

**~FIN~**

**Author's Note:**

> A single line of dialogue that came out of my brain, and then Gracie and I got a little carried away :)


End file.
